In ancient Egypt, Greece and Rome, the frog [...]]]> Ask a friend to name an animal commonly depicted in literature, myth and culture, and the answer isn’t likely to be “frog.” But from the ancient Egyptian goddess Heket to The Frog Prince to Michigan J. Frog, the croaking amphibians have populated the cultural imagination for thousands of years.

In ancient Egypt, Greece and Rome, the frog was associated with fertility, probably in part because the animals appeared in droves following the annual flooding of the Nile, whose silt deposits fertilized the Egyptian soil. In Asia, frogs are harbingers of fortune and luck, as they are in Scotland: “Households often keep stone frogs in their gardens and they are often given as house warming presents.” (Source) And in the Celtic Druidic tradition:

[The frog] unites the elements of water and earth, bringing joy, delight and healing in its singing and hopping … The frog possesses an extremely sensitive skin, considered magical by shamans. A companion of the rain spirits, the frog can help you develop sensitivity to others, to healing and to sound through your skin and your whole body and aura. (Source)

This symbolic sensitivity actually shows up on a scientific level as frogs are a documented sentinel, or indicator, species. In recent years, deformities in frogs have been noted as an early indicator of chemical farm pollution impacting local ecosystems. (Source) As well, in nature, frogs occupy the space between water and land, much as Heket represents the final stages of childbirth, when the baby emerges from the amniotic fluid to come live on the drier earth.

The composition of the photo above (wittingly? unwittingly?) reveals this sensitive in-the-margins space that frogs occupy both in the scientific research and in the cultural imagination: The stone sculpture of the frog sits at the shoreline between foliage and bark, and its skin is painted both red and blue, as if it could flux back and forth between two innate ways of being. (In Huber astrology, different colors represent different energies: red squares and oppositions are active; blue sextiles and trines are restful.)

The astrological archetype that first jumps to mind when I think about these characteristics of the frog is Mercury: it is light, flexible, sensitive, magical; it traverses the margins between defined worlds. But Mercury is a bit “drier” than a frog, airier and more detached than water and earth would suggest. So I want to say the frog, perhaps, is Mercury in a water sign (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces) or, under the right conditions, in an earth sign (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn). Or perhaps it is Mercury coupled with Virgo or the Moon or maybe even Jupiter: a planet that brings it a waterier, earthier sensibility, that deepens its sensitivity in an intuitive and sensual way.

There is one more element in the photo above that deserves comment: the paint is peeling. The frog is obviously old and may be neglected or forgotten (or, on the other hand, intentionally left to the weather). Whatever the case, there is a whisper of Saturn here, of the slow decay that comes with time. In our culture, we tend to turn away from such things.

But the photo instead shows how, over time, the bravely sensitive — and patient — person exposes what is underneath, makes raw and available what is inside, perhaps to help others, perhaps to move closer authenticity, perhaps to become more fertile with the deepening of each passing year.

Photo: lisa_eglinton

This image puts me in mind of Robert Hand’s description of Venus opposition Saturn: youth, lightness and spontaneity juxtaposed with age, graveness and ponderousness. Hand says:

“Loneliness and self-pity sometimes come with this transit. You feel surrounded by bright, positive [...]]]> It is archetypally surprising to see young and old, freshness and decay, coupled together in the same image.

This image puts me in mind of Robert Hand’s description of Venus opposition Saturn: youth, lightness and spontaneity juxtaposed with age, graveness and ponderousness. Hand says:

“Loneliness and self-pity sometimes come with this transit. You feel surrounded by bright, positive energies that you simply cannot relate to. You may feel like a gray presence among colorful people. … In general today, relationships will force you to encounter aspects of yourself that you would prefer not to face. However, like all oppositions, this one could heighten your self-perception and give you knowledge that will help you.” (Source, pp. 202-203)

There is a wistful feeling to this photo, as there may be to a Venus-Saturn coupling. It is as if we are within the vibrant, present moment of the young woman at the same time as we are deeply conscious — through the old building and dilapidated structures — of the long perspective of great lengths of time, either forward or past. That long perspective is dogged; we cannot shake it to simply be in the now, laughing and sightseeing and sipping coffee with our compadres. The duality in the Venus-Saturn opposition separates us from others who may be, right now, less sharply attuned to the connections between what is now and what is elsewhen. The stillness of the moment seems to span centuries.

The picture above reminds me of another image — one I’m sure you’ve seen before — that carries a  similar energy. The drawing to the right may be seen as either an old woman or a young woman, depending how you look. Like the decaying building in the photo above, the old woman reminds us of what the young woman will eventually become — indeed, of what we all will eventually become.

These images remind us that — much as we resist the idea — Saturn and Venus are intimately related. They seed one another. Both are physical, feminine energies (yes! Saturn is feminine) that, at their finest, work matter into its true form in each successive moment. For Venus, the process is instinctive, responsive and spontaneous; for Saturn, the process is thoughtful, careful and planned over time.

It is interesting to me that each of these images contains a downward perspective. The woman in the photo above appears to be looking at something below her eye level, over the railing of the bridge. Both the young woman and the old woman in the drawing above appear to be looking down as well. We speak of being in the present moment as “being grounded,” yet in the horoscope chart the ground — the IC, the nadir of the chart — is the place of the past, of ancestors, of deep memory, of the collective unconscious. When we are happy, we look up. When we are wistful or sad, we look down. When we want to connect, we look across.

These images suggest the manifestation of something solidly material around ephemeral feelings, of introspection seeded by memory, of a forming, a becoming, that is watered by the ground of memory, of time, of the long, deep perspective.

Image 1: Cam Switzer
Image 2: Public domain

But my eye is drawn this time to the colors, which put me in mind of the Huber school, which uses color [...]]]> It would be so easy to write about Venus with this photo: the beauty, the light, the symmetry, the suggested fragrance, the gorgeous growth created through the symbiosis of earth and sun, water and stem.

But my eye is drawn this time to the colors, which put me in mind of the Huber school, which uses color to great effect in its rendering and reading of horoscope charts.

The most obvious color here is the winged violet, but the dark lush of green and pinprick shocks of orange both compete with, and complete, the purple. In this way, all four aspect colors — orange and green, red and blue (i.e., purple) — are present in this close-up photo of flowers in a field.

Orange, green, red and blue represent the four different ways that energy can flow between two things: in the case of astrology, between two planets — that is, between two archetypes.

The field of green grass is the fertile ground of openness where perception occurs. In Huber astrology, the quincunx (150 degrees) and the semi-sextile (30 degrees) are rendered in green, signaling the fecundity of the open mind, of learning, of perceiving, of making decisions through information gleaned from many different corridors.

From this field of grass — receiver and channeler of water and nutrients — comes the impulse for growth. This impulse is sourced in a single seed and symbolized by red in the Huber scheme, red of initiative and activity and pushing-up through the cold winter ground to find the new spring. The essence of red lines (the 180-degree opposition and the 90-degree square) is action, restlessness, forging a path, creating new things. There is often some tension here, some work that must be done or an obstacle to overcome. The red lines are rarely easy, but they are always energized.

At the end of the red phase comes blue: the trine (120 degrees) and the sextile (60 degrees). Here the enjoyment phase starts, cooling the sweat of action, putting a lemonade in our hand and showing us to the chaise lounge, to sit back, to enjoy our work. The green has sourced the flower, the red has pushed it upward into our sights and now the blue allows us to rest. If there is yet work to be done, it is only the work of perfection, of fussing and cleaning and maybe a lazy pulling of a weed here and there. But mostly it is the energy of appreciation, a Look what I’ve done!

And then there is orange (the conjunction: 0 degrees). Orange is the tightest, most intense color, the kind of energy you get when you braid two things together so tightly that it’s hard to tell them apart. It is here, in the flower’s pistil, that the energy of receptivity, creativity and restfulness come together, where its generative ovaries and receptive stamen meet to perpetuate the life of its species. The riotous intensity is emblematic of this clashing mergence, a clashing so bright it hurts — yet it is totally natural, totally at one with the nature of the flower itself.

And so, in the end, there is something of the Venusian even in this rainbow of colors. It is the Venusian manner of bringing elements together into the perfect balance that’s needed to create and to enjoy and to continue unfolding the luscious beauty of purple flowers in open green fields through the unconscious, impulsive union of the orange.

Photo: cornish celt

She looked lovely, of course, her hair, makeup and clothes tasteful and appealing. She spoke with a quiet, comfortable sort [...]]]> Retired Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor was Jon Stewart’s guest on The Daily Show last night and, befitting of the nation’s first female Supreme Court Justice, she did an exemplary job of demonstrating the Libra-Venus archetype.

She looked lovely, of course, her hair, makeup and clothes tasteful and appealing. She spoke with a quiet, comfortable sort of humor and an affability that moved in consort with Stewart’s traditional teasing and deadpan jokes. Unlike some guests, she did not try to match Stewart’s humorous style or skill but, instead, met his personality with a light and grace all her own. That is, she didn’t spar with him but allowed him to make the joke and then responded in a similar vein, mirroring him but not trying to become him.

This ability to move with another person is uniquely Venusian, and it finds its most familiar home in the sign of Libra. Whereas a Mars/Aries person might wear louder clothes, spar more competitively with Stewart and try to make a big splash, O’Connor seemed happy to share the limelight and make an impression with her mere presence. The way she matched Stewart’s style with her own calm self-possession — and a twinkle in her eye — made me think what a pleasure it would be to have lunch with her.

But the gracious manner and lovely appearance of strong Libra-Venus types are only the most outwardly-obvious signs of what underlies the personality. There were a couple moments in the interview that belied the archetype even more deeply than O’Connor’s visible style.

The first sign was early on (at about the 11:50 mark in the video). Stewart asked O’Connor about her latest project, the website www.ourcourts.org. She said she got the idea as a response to the growing criticism, over the last several years, of “activist judges,” adding that she had read, in a study by the Annenberg Foundation, that only one-third of Americans can name the three branches of government (while 75% can name at least one American Idol judge!). The implication was that something seemed amiss in her environment — she was feeling criticized, something Libra-Venus types don’t take lightly — and she had to do something to fix the situation to her satisfaction, to bring it back into harmony with her own experience.

The other telling moment came at about the 18:40 mark on the video, after Stewart noted that, “The Supreme Court is famous for its collegiate atmosphere,” and asked how the justices are able to maintain that cordiality with each other over so many years of making tough, sometimes controversial decisions together. O’Connor’s response was simple, profound and quintessentially Libra-Venus.

She said, “One of the things you have to start learning in law school is how to disagree agreeably. Because when you’re on a court like that, a collegial court with an odd number of people — which they all are — you have to learn to disagree agreeably. Because you’re going to be there together a long time.”

It is not that Libra-Venus types are always agreeable — not by a long shot. But both relationship and harmony are of paramount importance to them. It is uncomfortable for strong Librans to not be in relationship. Yet whenever two people are engaged together, differences will arise and have to be resolved. An undeveloped Libra-Venus type might lash out, get jealous or feel slighted — and definitely regret it later because the all-important relationship has been damaged or lost.

But the developed type finds a way to get along with people, even people with whom she disagrees. She learns to “disagree agreeably” so the relationship can survive, flourish and bring good things in the long-term — because she knows that disagreement does not have to mean dissolution.

Though I believe it is hanging in the Pergamon Museum in Berlin, I was unable to discover anything more about this painting, the photo of which is this week’s Picture of the Week.

There are two different schools of thought about womanhood in astrology. (Well, truth be told, there are probably many, many more. But I’m only [...]]]>

Though I believe it is hanging in the Pergamon Museum in Berlin, I was unable to discover anything more about this painting, the photo of which is this week’s Picture of the Week.

There are two different schools of thought about womanhood in astrology. (Well, truth be told, there are probably many, many more. But I’m only going to discuss two of them here.) While all astrologers, to my knowledge, recognize Venus as the holder of feminine energy, most western astrologers also ascribe the mother role, and general feminine traits, to the Moon. The Huber school, on the other hand, says the Moon is gender-neutral — pertaining to emotional and contact needs — whereas Saturn represents the mother principle: It is keyed toward physical security, survival, protection, boundaries and attachment. It is most comfortable near the bottom of the chart, where it can grow roots and provide stability and assurance to the chart native. In the midst of crisis, it is this sturdy sort of mother that we all seek, not the mother figure suggested by the Moon.

But these motherly traits of sturdiness and security are not always the ones associated with femininity in popular culture. Femininity is seen as much less solid than Saturn: more emotional, changeable, flirtatious and irrational as well as tender, loving, caring and abundant. (It is this changeability, as well as this tenderness, that are sometimes missing in strong Saturn types.)

In my eyes, the picture above models the Saturn style of the feminine. Here is a woman alone with two animals: one domestic, one wild. She appears to be leading the horse, as if she has already gained mastery and command over it; she has tamed it, provided rules and boundaries, and made it dependent on her in some way. But then she comes upon a wild tiger — a beast from whom most people I know would run. Yet she holds out her hands as if to tame it, too, as if to say, “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” What’s more, the tiger is bowing its head at her feet, as if it already knows the woman’s power — already knows she will be the authority in the relationship.

Saturn may put reins on wild horses, but when confronted with wildness, chaos or danger a healthy Saturn will not freeze or run or kick but, instead, draw on its own resources to survive. In action films, that often means shooting guns and outrunning bad guys (more masculine, Mars-oriented stuff). But in real life, it may take fortitude, determination and creativity more than speed and strength.

A 2000 study published in Psychological Review claimed the traditional explanation of human stress response (“fight or flight”) was insufficient — particularly in females, for whom stress responses lean more toward, as the study put it, “tend and befriend” (notice it’s not an either-or but a both-and):

Behaviorally, females’ [stress] responses are more marked by a pattern of “tend-and-befriend.” Tending involves nurturant activities designed to protect the self and offspring that promote safety and reduce distress; befriending is the creation and maintenance of social networks that may aid in this process.

So when the going gets rough, women tend: They hunker down, grow roots and ensure they and their loved ones are protected and provided for. In other words, they go all Saturn on you. They also befriend, more a function of the social Venus archetype (with a good dose of Mercury, perhaps) than of the Moon (though a healthy Moon may certainly have a role to play in befriending as well). Yet even befriending, at least for the long-term, requires some Saturn energy of sacrifice, memory and protection as well as nurturing and maintaining deep connections.

In the picture above, the woman is tending and befriending. She is holding close to her faithful friend, the horse; developing an attachment with the tiger rather than separating from it; making the tiger dependent on her rather than chasing it off; taming it, restraining its wildness the way Saturn imposes order on chaos, organizes what feels unruly, protects us from the dangers of the world. What’s more, the woman appears calm and unruffled, sure of herself, not at all hysterical or flirtatious or indecisive.

After all, she is just going about her business, tending and befriending, in order to survive the wilderness of her life.

Photo credit

Yes, power.

First, our local NPR station featured an interview with two Woodbury University professors: Architecture Department Chair Norman Millar and Architecture [...]]]> In the last 24 hours, without even trying, I came across two news stories that caught me up in the Libra energy now swirling around the ether: ideas of love, beauty, partnership, seduction — and power.

Yes, power.

First, our local NPR station featured an interview with two Woodbury University professors: Architecture Department Chair Norman Millar and Architecture Professor Paulette Singley.

The topic, delectably risque, was Architecture and Seduction.

Now, let’s just be up-front about this: Libra, by no means, corners the market on seduction. There are plenty of other signs — Scorpio, for instance, or Leo — with their own unique brands of come-hither. But Libra is the quintessential sign of relationship and art, so it was intriguing to hear the two topics linked up in discussion, with nary a mention of astrology.

The discussion was a preview of a panel held last night at UCLA’s Hammer Museum, which is running an exhibition on John Lautner’s work, “Between Earth and Heaven,” through October 12th. The pair (of course!) exchanged opinions and insights about how a home could be laid out (pun intended) and accessorized to seduce a lover from front porch to kitchen to hallway to bedroom. It was agreed, for instance, that there was something very, very sexy about an open floor plan, about glass.

This struck me as very Libran: A whole environment designed not to bonk a potential bedmate over the head with garish flirtations but, instead, to evoke an atmosphere that slowly draws the lover into your embrace. Venus in Libra might be a little headier than, for example, sensual Venus in Taurus — perhaps engaging in a lively debate that stirs the passions — but it still knows how to evoke an atmosphere. After all, at its best, Libra, ruled by Venus, wants you to agree to follow her lead through the house. Where’s the fun, the challenge, in dragging you?

I drove home slowly, thoughts of a seductive house twirling about in my brain. I parked the car in the driveway, grabbed the mail from the box and slowly opened the door.

There were model train tracks on the floor, a pile of clean diapers on the easy chair and breakfast dishes still strewn on the kitchen table. The lair of a temptress this was not.

I sighed and forgot about the story. I had an evening packed with power struggles with my preschooler. I went to sleep feeling unsettled and pessimistic. When and how would these power struggles ever end? Would we ever just have fun together again? Why can’t he just do what I say?

I didn’t sleep well.

When I logged onto my e-mail this morning, another unwittingly Libran message awaited me. The same message, really, just from a different perspective. It read, in part:

When parents model the “healthy selfishness” of partnership and don’t resist their children’s narcissism, the children eventually learn that it feels good to care for others.

Today, notice all the ways in which *giving* makes you feel good, and how others feel good when you allow them to give to you. Let the line between giving and receiving dissolve. That’s the magic of partnership! (Source)

Hmmmm, indeed.Perhaps I don’t need to seduce my husband as much as I need to charm my child.

Because between the lines of the Libra impulse to compromise, agree and charm is really a question of power. As one of yesterday’s radio panelists put it, a bachelor pad is a place designed to get someone to give up a certain amount of power, to bend that person to your will, to make them want to go to bed with you.

To make them want. There is power there, no matter how much sugar you pour on it.

We often tell our child that hitting us isn’t a good way to get what he wants. Ditto whining, yelling and stomping. So why would I think anger would work well going the other direction? Last night, and many nights before, I tried to force this child to bend to my will and go to sleep before he’s ready. But Louise Huber’s seed thought for Libra goes like this:

I choose the way which leads between two great lines of force. (Source)

What way leads between the two forces, instead of toppling everyone over to one or the other? How can we move beyond either-or into a space where all boats rise, where a third alternative is viable and good? How can we acknowledge the powerful forces that snarl within each of us, but not enable them to dominate? How can we reframe our goal to be not power-over but power-with?

What would happen if we asked questions like this in public life as well as in our private lives?

Photo credits: bachelor pad, messy house, candidates